Page 22 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
Pain shot through her chest. “Iwasgood. I’m trying to get it back. I thought this tree might help.”
He gazed at the tree, his profile capturing her attention. Her mind snapped the image. Aquiline nose. Square jaw touched with stubble. Thick neck. Full lips. God, she would need bold strokes to capture his essence.
“I was rather surprised to see you out by this particular tree. My wife used to come here to write her poems.”
“I’m so sorry. Am I intruding? I can leave if it bothers you.”
He didn’t look at her, only kept gazing straight ahead. “It’s Bets’ land, and you picked a good spot according to Sorcha. In fact, you can see this tree from the house I’m building on that rise over there.”
That was his house? My God, could she get any closer to him? “I was thinking it must have wonderful views.”
“It does,” he said, “and should give me the same when I finish it. I’ve been working on it a few years now.”
“Your wife would have loved the view of this tree, I imagine.”
“Yes, I asked Bets for permission to build on the land for that very reason,” he said with a sigh. “Sorcha said the tree spoke to her. That the trunk looked like enormous hands clawing their way through the grass while the body of the tree leaned to the right as if it had been moved by a giant from times long past.”
Suddenly Angie could see the fingers clawing their way through the grass. She shivered. “Your wife’s poetry must be very good.”
He made a sound in his throat. “’Tis. What sheep message did you get today, or was it a garble of words that made no sense?”
He almost sounded hopeful of the latter. “No, it made sense all right.” She closed her pad and set it aside, resting her elbows on her knees. “Light brings change.As a painter, we’re all about the light.”
He moved away from her. One of the sheep trotted over, bleating loudly, and he rested his foot on the low rung of the fence and petted it. She couldn’t read the word on it from this angle.
“I thought about you last night,” he said, surprising her.
“You what?”
“Let me finish.” His glare was effective. “And since you’re Bets’ cousin—and a Yank, likely as direct as the rest I’ve met—I’ve decided to be frank about it.”
She let out a slow breath. “That sounds ominous.”
“Not ominous, I’d say. A storm as black as pitch over the land is ominous. You see one of those, find shelter. Right away. Don’t tarry.”
His accent was as crazy sexy as his directives. “Thanks for the tip. Ah… Should I remain sitting, or do we face each other while you get all direct with me?”
“You have a mouth on you,” he said with some amusement. “I expect you have fire too, from the way you wielded that seven iron at my sheep.”
Yesterday, he’d said she’d brought the sunshine. Today it was fire. This was good news. These past few years she’d felt tepid, beige, and disinteresting. Maybe her mantra—Focus, Ignite, Create—was working.
Then he leaned back against the fence. The sight of his tall, rugged body in a green jacket, worn jeans, and black wellies made her mouth water. His sleepy eyes had her heart rate kicking up.
She couldn’t allow it. “Well! Go on. Be direct. Only be prepared for me to do the same. About whatever this is.”
He continued his lazy perusal with his smoky gray eyes.
“Whatareyou looking at?”
“You.” He came forward again, his hands on his hips. “You look different than yesterday.”
It was the outfit! Part of her wanted to cheer. “I’d just gotten off a plane and driven three hours. Give a girl some credit.”
His mouth tipped up. “I do. More than I want to. But you’re Bets’ cousin, and even if me and my body have taken a liking to you, I want to tell you straight off nothing can come of it.”
The way he saidme and my bodyhad her girl parts tightening in the most delicious way. God, that hadn’t happened for a while. She decided to enjoy it as much as his compliments.
“Did you hear me?” He frowned at her. “I thought it best to lay it out. Should you be thinking that way at all. Avoid any misunderstandings.”
